


Spring and Hades

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Attempted Kidnapping, Bipolar Disorder, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Bottom Iwaizumi Hajime, Established Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru Angst, Killer!Oikawa, M/M, Minor Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Multi, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Russian Mafia, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Spies & Secret Agents, Stalker, Stockholm Syndrome, Top Oikawa Tooru, Violence, Yandere, Yandere!Iwaizumi, matsuhana - Freeform, oiiwa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-26 13:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18717679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “You’re like a combination of spring and the god of the death in Greek mythology. What’s his name again ?”“Hades” Oikawa answers “And that’s really an interesting comparison”“Because it’s the only one that suits you”“Hades has a weak heart, you know”





	1. Dream a little dream about me

**Author's Note:**

> My AU about Killer!Oikawa and Yandere!Iwaizumi.
> 
> Please read all the tags before reading this. You can check out my [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/appleyogurt_/) to see more arrworks I did based on this fic. Thank you very much ! 
> 
> Listen to [Summertime](https://soundcloud.com/impassionedkid/summertime) while reading is what I reccomend.

 

 

_Packing all my things for the summer,_

_Lying on my bed it’s a bummer ‘cause I_

_Didn’t call when I got your number but I,_

_Like you, a lot._

**(Lana Del Rey- White Mustang)**

* * *

 

_Iwaizumi was twenty three when he realized he had fallen in love again._

_  
_ The twenty-three-year-old boy looks at the face that he had gradually become accustomed to, pays attention to the way Oikawa drops the milk bread on the counter, the way his hazel eyes blink slightly and zoom in Iwaizumi, gleam like the sun. He thinks of his beautiful face, while restraining himself so that his cheeks didn't turn red and started to stare at him for more than a minute.

_It takes you four minutes to fall in love with someone._

College student Iwaizumi Hajime looks at the graceful hands that lightly pressed on the white surface, imagines the feeling of those hands stroking his cheeks, imagines the sensation of each muscle twitching slightly when that soft voice came from his ear. About the weather, about life, a social compliment or even a whirring sound while waiting for the old cash register to run- anything that could open his mouth to communicate with Iwaizumi. And Oikawa did it right away- the only difference was that Iwaizumi had responded with a frown and a glare, the feeling of distant fuss, the sounds of grumbling went out of his mouth as if they were no longer obeying the control of his central brain.

_People said that it takes four minutes to fall in love with someone, and Iwaizumi did it in the blink of an eye._

Iwaizumi Hajime looks at him, takes note of the way he smiles, his lips parting softly, smooth and comforting, create a beautiful curve. It's always that damn smile, both silly and gentle, and it soothes Iwaizumi's mind, while it heats his cheeks and his whole feature. Iwaizumi unconsciously counts the smooth existence of tiny freckles on his face, _one, two, three, four._

In a month, everything should have become clear. Iwaizumi should have stopped paying attention to the way his heartbeat increased, the way some mysterious magic was being released, the way that something inside his body is moving smoothly to produce the emotion that people call _love_ , and that he is willing to crush his whole life and his heart to give it to Oikawa so easily like they were _Icarus and the sun._

**_( In a month, it should have become easier for him, like the way Iwaizumi folded the clothes in the closet for the twentieth time, the way he kept himself in the toilet to scrub his own body over and over after returning home. Oikawa should have become so easy to understand, just as Iwaizumi saw clearly the eight cracks on Aoba Johsai's window glass, the exact height of the volleyball net, two red lines on the shoes,  twelve rice packages lined up on the convenience store shelves, three curls hanging down Oikawa's beautiful forehead-----)_ **

Oikawa smiles at him, and Iwaizumi doesn't think about it anymore. Contrary to his speculation, that Oikawa will become something so easy to understand and that Iwaizumi can finally endure to not show his damn obsession for Oikawa after a month of being acquainted with him. But then, he always makes Iwaizumi _dull_ \--- of the way his body moves, bright smiles pretty eyes. All of that make Iwaizumi feel like Oikawa is like yellow lights from a warm house in the dark night, like the presence of the moon so that the waves can rise on the sea. He never fails to make Iwaizumi dumbfounded by the way he talks, or to be honest, only his appearance can makes Iwaizumi holds his breath every morning watching him stepping through the doorway.

 _There was something in the way he smiled, his sharp lines, calm but no less attached, the_ _reassuring warmth_ _that can make Iwaizumi dream about the whole galaxies and stars._

But at the same time Oikawa is also a painful reminder, a sharp knife which pierced through  Iwaizumi's stomach, the sharp edge touching each of his childhood memories.

**_( Oikawa Tooru has twelve dots of freckles on his face. One, two, three, four. Iwaizumi counts, his eyes under the thin glass constantly chasing every movement of the brown-haired boy in front of him. Five, six, seven, eight. Regularly, adjacent, like the fact that his mom used to hug him and kiss him on the cheek once, twice, it was like he had grabbed the hand of the person he loved, like the two of them ran at twenty kilometers per hour through Sendai's fields in the summer until they arrived at school like he loved him so much like how he understood the meaning of  a fall of love and quarrels occurred in the hallway near the stairs and the skin of that beloved person conveyed a soft feeling when touched and --)_ **

_"Hey, you always carry that hand sanitizer with you, right?"_ The high-pitched sound cuts across his thoughts, and somehow Iwaizumi felt a little grateful, even though he is still not familiar with Oikawa’s habit of making miscellaneous conversation.

 _"OCD"_ he bites his lips, preventing himself from rambling too much about him.

**_( Oikawa, Oikawa, Oikawa, Oikawa, Oikawa ----- I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you )_ **

_"A-Ah, I'm sorry—"_ the excitement in his eyes slowly vanishes for a moment, and Iwaizumi feels a hatred for the hot, burning sensation on his chest. He can feel his heart making a riot inside of his ribcage when Oikawa bites his lip, honeyed eyes peering up curiously. Then it seems like his face relaxes a bit, as soon as Iwaizumi shakes his head and mumbles _"It's okay"_ , in a way that Iwaizumi can nearly name it _radiance._

**_( His hands are itchy. He wants to touch him, every breath becomes difficult to control, the dark greenish pupils looked up at Oikawa, then he recalls about the towering staircase at his middle school, about that person he loved so much, with his stunning face down on the hard stone floor, blood was everywhere on him and --- )_ **

Oikawa’s mouth let out a laugh, gradually becoming a giggle, and Iwaizumi responds with some nagging.

Oikawa pushes his glasses on, rushes to him with charming honey-colored eyes, giving an exclamation of the fact that his skin looks so soft and smooth that Iwaizumi eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and Oikawa turns to face him--

_"Can I touch it?"_

Iwaizumi’s mind stopped, breath hitching.

He understands that this was a strange situation in a conversation between two college students, but that thought simply drifted away from his mind for a moment when he just nods slightly, crouches toward to make it easier for Oikawa's charming fingertips to reach his cheek.

 _"Honestly, what am I, a puppy?"_ Iwaizumi frowns, while Oikawa ignores it and continues to play with his face.

Oikawa's fingers glide up, creeping into his curls, Oikawa leans forward in an effort to keep them closer, causing Iwaizumi's face to heat up. His eyebrows wrink, and he can’t do nothing but bow his head lower to hide the expression on his face, his hand grabs Oikawa's slender wrist and Oikawa can’t help but wonders– that is it a repudiation, or _an invitation_ for something _more_ than just this---

_Oikawa lets him._

He lets Iwaizumi’s hands wander on his wrist, touch him, while he is still immersed in the softness fragrance on Iwaizumi's hair.

_He doesn’t let go._

 

* * *

 

 **_Obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD)_ ** _is an anxiety disorder in which time people have recurring, unwanted thoughts, ideas or sensations (obsessions) that make them feel driven to do something repetitively (compulsions). The repetitive behaviors, such as hand washing, checking on things or cleaning, can significantly interfere with a person’s daily activities and social interactions._

 

* * *

 

_He doesn’t let go._

 

At four in the morning, there is no light.

_He doesn’t let go the crowbar in his right hand._

The vivid light of the street lamp that reflects on red pools of burning liquid on the ground, melting into hard concrete, is the only source of light that Oikawa can see, and he doesn’t feel bothered about it. The smell of blood always make him feel a strong burst of nausea in his throat, while the color makes Oikawa feel _calm._ _He is alive. That thing, that liquid doesn’t belong to him, he had the supreme power of stripping them from someone else's body, he is still breathing, he is just doing things like usual, nothing more. Equally._

 _Calm_. He laughs at himself, thinking about how strange it sounds when someone feels calm while killing others.

_He thinks of God, thinks of the Savior._

The June breezes become more numb than usual, and Oikawa frowns, his hand gripping the flap of the thin military green jacket in an effort to make himself a bit more warm. Summer has begun to cross the threshold of time and come to this city, but at four o'clock in the morning, he can’t open his mouth to ask anything more than to endure these cold air.

 _Well, it may not be the cause of his problem_. Maybe it was because his body was covered with the combination of a bunch of liquids, which was extremely inviting to the wind in pressing on his skin and lowering his body temperature - a combination of blood, sweat, rain water, viscera, and some things he _can't even name._

The man in front of him groans in pain. Oikawa tilted his head, and he even wants to laugh at himself for calling it _"pain". That can't be called pain. It's a huge loss_ , Oikawa thinks, the sound of sarcasm rising in his mind, echoing as if when people shouting at the cliffs and valleys. He doesn’t know he should say the man is lucky or unlucky. Of the nearly twenty people who had just been killed by him, he seems to be the only one alive, somehow, with a skull that is missing a quarter of it.

He stands upright, waits until the man looks up slowly, small crimson blood splits from the wound on his head, and he looks _straight_ at Oikawa.

Along with the lights, the vivid lights. In the eyes of that man, it’s a winter world. Oikawa has never met anyone whose eyes color are so bright, like the European winter sky, like the white snow that the stag has stepped on. In Japan, usually, he only sees black and brown. Black and brown. Normal, rustic, simple, making him happy, making him _feel warm._

 _“Foreigners”_ Oikawa grumbles, looks into those eyes. The phone in his pocket flutters softly, and Oikawa lets out a curse, hoping that its screen was not blurred and sticky because of all the liquid that penetrated the cheap fabric of his pants.

_Oikawa knows he has to hurry up._

Oikawa presses on his knuckles, causing the joints to make some crackling sounds, looks down at the man lying miserably in the pool of blood, with the look in his eyes as if Oikawa’s attention to him is less than a tenth. Part of his skull was crushed under the force of the crowbar, his left eye was not in its right place, the other rolls back to his skull, his torn, bloody lips emits obscene words- but With Oikawa, that's no different from the sound of a pig.

Oikawa tilts his head, his eyelids close slightly, as if washing his ears from those disgusting sounds.

 _"Y-You fucking disgusting bastard ---"_ The man groans, _"Who the fuck do you think you're--"_

 _"Ah, yes sir. Pardon me, I was impolite"_ Oikawa says nonchalantly, his shoulders hanging as if giving the man a signal of surrender, but his eyes say otherwise. His hand rubs tight on the handle of the weapon, that with him, is like the sword of a mighty knight.

In Oikawa's head, there are two thoughts, one is to finish the man right now and other is his desire to touch the eyeballs with that sparkle gold-color with his bare hands and feel the warmth of it - warm means he can still breathe, warm means alive, edible, still exists--

The man's hand suddenly grips his pants, chill runs down his spine, and Oikawa's body moves automatically, the fire flaring in his eyes ---

Somehow, the vivid lights from the familiar red street lamps turn the starburst of blood into brilliant neon pink, and Oikawa thinks, within half a second, that he should try to see it more. A consolation. Boring job. The sound of the crowbar crashing into the skull was like a crisp sound of his roommate biting into a piece of snack. That was too boring, trivial, not worthy of a human life that had just been stripped away, mingled with a love song from the window of some house around the parking lot.

The man’s body twitching, his entire head blossoming like a sickening plants although not much of his skull is still there. The ground turns into a lovely flowers field with all shades of red at once, turning Oikawa’s mood a little bit happy.

Oikawa is a bit surprised, honestly. He didn’t expect that guy to be- seriously- _alive_. He clicks his tongue in a annoyed way. That makes Oikawa feel like his perfection is ruined.

 _“That’s very enthusiastic"_ Oikawa says, but his face shows the opposite.

He might be an elite student in the class, maybe over and over again getting compliments from teachers or juniors, but he realizes he doesn’t have enough vocabulary to describe the feeling of familiarity transmitted through his hands when the head of a familiar crowbar swings past someone's skull, devastating it, getting through it smoothly. The sound that was too boring, trivial, not worthy of a human life that had just been stripped away, mingled with a love song from the window of some house around the parking lot.

He absentmindedly remembers the documentary footages he had seen, those murderers spoke their feelings on the radio, even in the books, the journalists desperately trying to find a way to save themselves by posting those boring chats on the newspaper with a fake sensation.

Or they are just boring to him. Because he _knows it_. He knows how to be an excellent student, how to serve a destructive ball, to be a good setter, how to smile at everyone, but he also knows how to finish a man off with his bare hands.

 _"Good morning"_ He presses the answer button, reveals a bit more excitement than usual. “ _Four o'clock, really?"_

 _"Come on, no one else can please me more than you_ " the voice with a low, sarcastic tone reaches his ears, before Oikawa yawns, curses the class he has at eight o'clock.

 _"Go away, Matsukawa"_ Oikawa growls, staggering to put his bag on one shoulder, walking towards the exit of this damn parking lot. _"Money. Just transfer the money to me"_

 _"God, who knows Oikawa the paid-killer is rude"_ Matsukawa sighs, accompanies by a few clattering sounds that Oikawa guesses it’s from  the keyboard.

 _“Whoever lives without money?”_ Oikawa puffs his cheeks, his heavy footsteps echoing as he walks through the empty buildings.

 _"Done"_ Matsukawa answers. Oikawa checks the incoming message, makes sure that the money is in his bank account.

 _"Really, what's wrong with those guys?"_ Oikawa furrows his eyebrows and touches the cold door handle of an old toilet deep in the block. _Thanks God._ If he didn’t discover this place in the some few jobs before, then Oikawa doesn't know how to walk out at four in the morning without meeting someone with a bloody shirt like this.

 _"They have hard skull"_ Oikawa says. " _Very enthusiastic. It cost me a lot of bullets, stupid stuffs, and now? I'm exhausted to death ”_

 _"Use drugs, smuggle, trade people, run gangs and bars, kill people for fun, a bunch of illegal stuffs you wouldn’t want to hear..."_ Matsukawa sighs on the other side, the quick list makes Oikawa knit the brows. “ _Whatever_ _you want, get that as a reason"_

_"Drugs? No wonder those big ass fuckers were all horny like that ”_

_"Please know how to talk like a normal college students, Oikawa_ " Matsukawa jokes.

 _“Yeah, pardon me, Mr.Matsukawa”_ Oikawa would join in Matsukawa’s funny conversation if he’s not frustrated because of that stupid pig he just killed earlier.

 _"Well, did you do everything cleanly?"_ Matsukawa asked again, after a moment of silence.

Oikawa smoothes out his sweat-stained hair, looks at his reflection in the mirror, into the spreading red marks, sticky pink thing that people call _brain_ all over his torso, into frayed sleeves, finally into his face with blood stains on both sides of his cheeks.

 _"It can't be more clean"_ Oikawa shrugs, and Matsukawa answers with a light laugh before hanging up.

_“Anyway, go home. I will make sure you are safe”_

Oikawa buttons his shirt, puts on his old glasses, takes a minute to wonder if he looks like a college student now, or there is anything that left of a killer. And he thought about the documentary footage he watched, again. Ironically, he imagines what it would be like if he got arrested someday. Perhaps his face will be posted on the front page of the tabloid, with a more incomparable title, something like " _This notorious serial-killer even cares about his sleek appearance after killing dozens of lives!_ "

He’ll make sure he looks nice if that happens, because perhaps Iwaizumi would buy that newspaper.

But that's true. That Oikawa has to hide it, the fact that he has a mind strong enough to go through all those disgusting things, a pair of unforgiving honeyed eyes with no mercy, that have no hint of humanity hidden in it. Sharp lines that could express violence, ultraviolence. His face painted on the coldness, the lumpy fist, the hands that he was accustomed to easily breaking someone's neck- all things that are in stark contrast to the way his hands can gently fondles Iwaizumi's fragrant hair.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa walks through the convenience store door at seven in the morning, and Iwaizumi is there.

It takes him one month to form a habit, and before he even realizes, buying junk food at the nearby convenience store has become an integral part of his daily process, at least a little bit that makes him feel comfortable after a long night of, if he can say, _jobs_.

But it’s not the foods that keep him in.

_It’s Iwaizumi._

Oikawa waves to him excitedly, and Iwaizumi greets him with a frown. Oikawa realizes he is completely acquainted with being seen by Iwaizumi as an idiot who always speaks out stupid things and starts unnecessary conversations. So he is not bothered at all, seeing Iwaizumi's scowling face so regularly like this. _And it's almost_ , even though Iwaizumi will kill him if he says so - _lovely, in a way_.

Oikawa thinks about it again, and he wonders if Iwaizumi will truly kill him.

Iwaizumi gets up from his seat next to the window full filled with the summer sunshine, and Oikawa hurries to follow him. Iwaizumi in the summer looks so bright. Roses bloom under his skin whenever there was a sunshine, warming his cheeks in soft pinks, and this platinum-rimmed glasses glistens. With the convenience store's apron in so bright color, Iwaizumi looks like a little sun, something that soothes Oikawa's mind in the middle of this city filled with gray concrete.

Iwaizumi pauses to crouch down on the cat lying lazily on the tile floor, the corner of his mouth opens to form something that makes Oikawa wonder if Iwaizumi is smiling. He is not jealous of that cat, as he thought he should have felt like that.

The cat helped him, in a way. Seeing Iwaizumi smile is a rare thing.

Unlike Oikawa’s, his feature, especially the skin looks smooth and whiter, without any trace of freckles or melasma.

 _Perhaps that's why you're so good at making a mask_ , Oikawa thinks.

There was something about Iwaizumi- even when he was looking at Oikawa with the usual curious eyes, even when he sat by the window, smiling at the birds outside, looking quiet and mature like all normal college students. Something is missing inside Iwaizumi, something Oikawa can't name, making him think that Iwaizumi is no longer a human. Perhaps he had lost a part of him somewhere that Oikawa is unaware of, and perhaps it’s just one or two parts of Iwaizumi is really a human being.

And that makes Oikawa feel _overwhelmed_ . With the experience of someone who has went through depriving people’s life from time to time, Oikawa knows. People are aware, they have fears, know how to step back in suitable time and calculate in front of their enemies or when they are stuck in a dangerous situation, but animals do not act the same. Animals are more resilient. That's why Oikawa hates them, why he hates it when the watchdogs look at him with sharp eyes, the cats stick to him even when he's frustrated about it. Iwaizumi is not an animal, of course. But he is slightly, _imperfect, or abnormal._

Iwaizumi is in the gray area of Oikawa mind, and Iwaizumi is not a human being , _Iwaizumi Hajime is not a human being_ , and Oikawa _loves_ it ---

Killing people is easy, but not the rest.

 

 _Things that are not easy are the most interesting things_.

 

The noisy street crew interrupts Oikawa's thoughts, and he frowns, presses on his knuckles had become his hard-to-quit habit whenever he’s angry. Humans make him feel tired, feel uncomfortable - seriously, Oikawa felt _sick_ when he has to face the mankind.

But Iwaizumi is another category. The convenience store is always silent, and Oikawa takes the opportunity to feel the spacious space filled with the sound of this old cash register operating as if it is separate from the noisy world out there. It is a sweet, sweet thought. Oikawa straightens, staring at Iwaizumi's dark green eyes as he leans forward, staring at the pile of sweets Oikawa has bought, the beautiful mouth giving off grunts.

 _"Oikawa_ " Iwaizumi says, messing with his silky black hair, eyebrows furrowed. _"You should really start eating more moderately."_

 _Oikawa's name_ makes Iwaizumi's voice softer, while others _cringes_ at it.

 _"Your face looks so smooth"_ Oikawa answers with a question without any relevant, smiling _"Can I touch it?"_

Iwaizumi looks at him, his eyes wide, his eyebrows furrowed like a rejection, but then he nods. Oikawa touches his cheek. At first, when Oikawa did it, Iwaizumi felt unfamiliar. Oikawa knew it, according to the way Iwaizumi shivered, snuggled deeper into the school jersey outside the convenience store's apron. Oikawa bites his lips, trying not to let out a satisfied smile, trying to hide his trembling hands like twigs in the storm. _I understand that._ He thinks. _I can't get used to the contacts of mortals too._

But Iwaizumi is _different_ , so he doesn't feel uncomfortable touching him.

Oikawa's fingers gently touch Iwaizumi's hair in midnight-black, while Iwaizumi's ( _soft, and warm_ ) hands travel on his slender wrist, stroking his skin.

In a month, everything should have become clear. It should have been smooth and fast, like Oikawa have crushed the skulls of a hundred people with bare hands, like the way those sounds of broken bones still echoing in his mind. He could have finished Iwaizumi in the past month, anytime, _right now_ , he didn't have to wait, didn’t have to restrain. It's useless to be friend a person he wants to kill, and  a relationship like that is unnecessary. Oikawa knows that. But he wants it.

Iwaizumi is, in a way--- _interesting._

 _"Is that enough?"_ Iwaizumi asks impatiently, and Oikawa quickly catches the blush on his cheeks. Instead, he smirks, not letting go of Iwaizumi's hair.

Iwaizumi stays silent.

 _"I heard people said"_ Oikawa starts, trying to show up as if this is just a little conversation. _"A good boyfriend is someone who will help you hide a corpse without asking anything"_

Iwaizumi doesn't move under his hands, not surprised by what he just said, not blink, not frown, not even _flinch_ \--

 _"What do you think?"_ Oikawa asks, tilts his head.

Oikawa did not expect an answer from Iwaizumi in such a situation, so he almost starts when Iwaizumi raises his voice and looks up between Oikawa’s hands.

 _"If it was me"_ he frowns, not because of the question, but because it was a troublesome to answer Oikawa's question. Oikawa thought so. _"I will act the same"_

Oikawa stares at him, his fingertips numb and his heart seems to be starting a riot in his rib cage.

 _"I mean--"_ Iwaizumi looked away, hesitating when he sees Oikawa not answer _"It's a boyfriend, right?_ _So I will say_ _"_ ** _It’s just killing people, we can solve it_** _", something like that "_

_It’s just killing people._

_"Say, Iwa-chan"_ Oikawa lets go of him, and Iwaizumi stands tall. _"You really have that strange thoughts"_

 _“Loving is killing, you know”_ Iwaizumi shrugs like it’s nothing, and then startles _“Ah, sorry I said too much nonsense”_

 _“It’s not nonsense”_ Oikawa smiles, hiding his shaking hands.

Hiding his excitement.

 _“It’s as nonsense as the fact that you bought too much junk food”_ Iwaizumi frowns, causing Oikawa to let out some giggles.

Oikawa thinks about the hands that he just used to touch Iwaizumi face, the same that was used by him to kill a bunch of ass holes just some hours before, the hands that was covered with blood, sweat and dust- now feel so nice after touching Iwaizumi.

He thinks about the way Matsukawa once said that he has a pair of eyes that can makes anyone melts. Oikawa feels like Iwaizumi is the same, yet so different from him. Oikawa’s gaze makes those people melt in fears. Iwaizumi eyes make Oikawa melt in _warmness and complacency._

He thinks about what to do now, when two thoughts are fighting so hard in his mind while he is smiling at Iwaizumi. The thought of killing Iwaizumi right away, _now and here_ , to slam his head against the walls, to touch his stunning eyeballs, to see lovely flowers bloom from his skull. Blooming flowers, blooming bruises- Along with the thought about how warm Iwaizumi was, and Iwaizumi is so, so _warm._

_Love hurts, in a way. Physically, mentally._

 

* * *

 

Matsukawa was completely sincere when he said that he would rather spend nine hours listening to Oikawa talking about his beautiful face than use that time to teach those students.

For Matsukawa, sitting in front of the computer receiving instructions from The organization, sending all those information to Oikawa and waiting for him to complete it, then cleaning up the following, is so much easier than sharing his knowledge for a group of people who don't even care.

But he needs this job. He needs a cover, seriously, just as Oikawa and other members of The oganization. He doesn’t want to realize, at some point that he is sitting in the prison, doesn’t want to lose the only source that response to his strange hobby of horrifying bloody things.

He looks down at the classroom while flipping through the papers, looks at all those indifferent faces, some are even falling asleep or checking the phone - and he wishes he could have enough money to hire Oikawa to kill all of them. He means, he could have had enough money, if they hadn't poured into trying dozens of sleeping pills, tranquilizers and stimulants every night.

He wants to sleep, just as he wants to die from discouragement for nine hours in this damn college.

 _Perhaps die is even easier_. Matsukawa thinks. Death is only a long, eternal sleep. He could not even sleep for five minutes, could not sleep even  though he had tried everything- strong doses, illegal drugs, slammed his head against the wall, strangled himself, but he still could not sleep without having nightmares, unable to sleep peacefully without looking like he is being tortured, even ---

The bell rang, and Matsukawa wakes up from his thoughts, and he lets out a breath, closed the book, hands out some instructions he knew there were no words that reach the students' ears. He sighs. Matsukawa should have gotten used to this, but he is a too easy-going, too considerate of others to be able to ignore his students.

He laughs at that very thought, at himself, thinking about the number of people who had died in front of his gaze, under his hands, indirectly. But it was also refreshing and satisfying.

A soft, timid voice cuts through his mind.

 _“Matsu-san ?”_ , it says.

Matsukawa turns around to the direction where the voice came out - and a slender, tall figure enters his view. The eyes narrow as if it can smile. His skin is so pale, his ( _beautiful_ ) fingers are long and thin. And Matsukawa catches the moment when sleepiness slowly vanishing from the chestnut brown shades in his eyes, bright and prominent on his face with that short-cut hair ---

 _Ah, your hair is pink, like cherry blossom,_  he thinks. _You looks beautiful,_  he thinks.

 _"Yes?"_ He answers after examining the person in front of him clearly. He looks no shorter than Matsukawa is, but Matsukawa still has the feeling that he is much smaller based on that slender and skinny build. He has a face that could not be called singular, but the lines exudes a fragile, graceful look, the bridge of his nose is straight, and Matsukawa knows he should not stare and consider other people's feature, but he could do nothing but be attracted to the peaceful presence on his face--

_It’s like snow. Cold, yet beautiful._

_"Ah, yes. The school informed me that you was a bit busy in preparing the lectures and school projects, so I was sent here to be your assistant in times of need"_ His voice is not as light as Oikawa, but deeper and warmer. “I _n short, this is my contact information and you can message at any time, the school also gave us a new office in building B that you can go to see it tomorrow and-- "_

He says quickly, his hands flipping through the thick file, while Matsukawa comparing his brown eyes to Oikawa's. _It was lighter,_  he thinks. _And softer._

 _"Before we talk about it, I think you should let me know your name first"_ Matsukawa smiles slightly, and the person in front of him immediately startles, scratches his hair in awkwardness.

 _"Hanamaki Takahiro"_ he says, calmly, with a smile _"I know it is a long name, so you can call me Hana or Makki at your will, like my friends call me"_

 _"Hana is okay"_ Matsukawa politely answers. _A beautiful name._

The noise outside the window catches Matsukawa's attention, and he looks up absentmindedly, watching the afternoon sky turning into a red shades like the color of blood, the trees that looks as they are burning in flames and the building on the back of the university looks like a deserted castle.

 _"That sound is annoying_ " Matsukawa mutters, flipping through the file.

Hanamaki looks out the window, then looks at him. _"Hm, I hate it too"_

He lets out a smile that Matsukawa doesn’t know he should call it radiant or dangerous. But it makes him shiver, though he doesn’t understand why. Matsukawa can’t read his expression either, because his honeyed eyes were covered, eyelashes narrow into a little smile.

 _"They're crows"_  Hanamaki says  _"They bring bad luck"_

The birds’ sounds vanished into silence.

Matsukawa thinks he should take note of the way he smiles.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa listens to the music from the phone and humming.

 _"Can you help me find information about one person?_ " Oikawa says as soon as the other one just picked up the phone, doesn’t even let him say something. _But he sure won't be angry,_ Oikawa thinks. _Oikawa knows him too well._

 _"Oikawa-san, it's time for everyone to go to sleep_ " he answers, the absent-minded voice quickly interrupted by Oikawa.

 _"Can you?_ " He is more hasty than usual, causing the other one to fall into a moment of silence, and then he sighs.

 _"Give me the name, please"_ he says, bored, with the rustling sounds of pen and paper.

_"Iwaizumi Hajime"_

Oikawa releases a name that can make him feel irritated in the blink of an eye.

 _"Hm, that's a nice name."_ He shrugs, and Oikawa doesn’t know if it was a sarcasm. _"What do you want me to find?"_

_"Find out if he had killed anyone in the past"_

_"You're being too straightforward_ " He sighs again, and Oikawa could imagine the frown on his lazy face. _"Recently, Matsukawa-san is killing me slowly by handing me a lot of daily tasks, but also grumbling about me, like, what? it's not easy to find out a person’s information from the beginning to the end. Ah, it is so true that more money is just means more work ”_

Oikawa smiles, listens to a series of lamentations from the young man on the other side. _"Well, let's just care about the **" more money"** part first" _

_“Anyway, I'll send you the information soon. It's a priority”_ he says. _“Although you definitely will kill him after that”_

_“Nah, I won’t”_

_“I know you”_

_“At least not this time”_ Oikawa smiles _“I wanna play first”_

 _“You are so evil, Oikawa-san”_ The other boy pouts.

“ _You’re like a combination of spring and the god of the death in Greek mythology. What’s his name again ?”_

 _“Hades”_ Oikawa answers _“And that’s really an interesting comparison”_

_“Because it’s the only one that suits you”_

_“Hades has a weak heart, you know”_

_Iwaizumi Hajime,_  Oikawa repeats his mind.

_“And you have to be careful. There are some organizations that want to get rid of us recently, I don't know if it’s the cops or either some kind of mafia gangs that we were rented to kill their members before, but I absolutely don't wanna see your guys’ names on the death list "_

_"If so, remember to buy flowers for me in my funeral, if I can have one"_ Oikawa laughs.

 _"Ha, ha, that’s so funny"._ Sarcasm.

 _"Anyway, I'll be careful, so don't worry about us"_ Oikawa thinks, absent-minded. _“And, yeah, I guess that it was the cops_ _”_

_"Then it is a piece of cake”_

_“There are some kind of cakes that tastes fucking gross”_

He sighs, Oikawa doesn’t remember how many time have he done that, and Oikawa lets out a small laugh.

 _"I know I can always trust you, Yahaba" he_ gives a compliment to the silver-haired boy that he's so familiar with, listens to his breath from the other side of the phone, almost made it a smile, before he hangs up.

_"I really hope so, Oikawa-san"_

 


	2. My self dreaming of silver and gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The glow on Ophelia's dress shines in the corner of his eyes.
> 
> And their rush, burning love, their lack of computation in a relationship along with the gold color on the painting, is the background of a kiss.
> 
> Not a passionate kiss, not the thought of Hanamaki wondering why he did it, or the sleepiness at six in the hazy morning- Matsukawa is not clever enough to think about anything right now, but just one whisper "I wanna kiss you"
> 
> Hanamaki Takahiro, soft lips presses against his loved one’s, hiding his face from the picture, hiding his face under Matsukawa’s hands on his cheekbones and doesn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this chapter, so please read it. 
> 
> My (strange) hobby is making sad things with warm and sweet materials, that's why I enjoy writing this very much. I want the reader to feel like even if they're not perfect or even abnormal, they still can find their own ways to enjoy all little moments of happiness in their life. 
> 
> The [playlist](https://soundcloud.com/ph-ng-ho-i-423833806/sets/lets-me-sleep-until-the-spring) I made for this chapter (I'll update in every chapter, so please make sure you'll check the notes) 
> 
> [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/appleyogurt_/) for more illust and stuffs  
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _That one was so beautiful I used to watch him sleep. If I had to sum up what he did to me, I’d say it was this: he made me sing along to all the bad songs on the radio._
> 
> _Both when he loved me, and when he didn’t._
> 
>  

  * > **_**_Jenny Offill,  Dept. Of Speculation_**_**




 

 

* * *

 

_Twenty-three years old, Iwaizumi hears him calling while sinking into a temporary sleep on the counter._

Iwaizumi recognizes his voice, but he can’t remember his name anymore. The memories of childhood are soon eroded and become tattered, as Iwaizumi has forgotten many things, forgetting the fact that he once had a very good time in Sendai ( _until his family was forced to move_ ), forgetting that Iwaizumi had grabbed his hand and ran quickly with a smile ( _until the touches were sparse and replaced by cold eyes_ ). Forgetting that he used to be a tough kid that never let out any tear, but still, an _obedient and sweet kid,_ that his mother used to put her hands on both side of his cheeks and watch him _closely, deeply_ with affectionate eyes.

 _"Iwa-chan"_ He hears that voice calling his name, the sound is so deep and sweet. If it was then, he wishes he had gone to the hospital, wishes he could have knelt under the doctor's foot back in Sendai, beg them to cure him.

So that the desire to kill his loved person won’t ever rife inside his rib cage anymore, so that he can look at them with an pair of sparkle eyes like every person in love do.

Iwaizumi feels bitterness in his throat, and although he doesn’t know why, but he strongly hopes that humans could make some remedy that could refresh all of the blood vessels and make up his hearts.

_But the time has passed and cannot be recovered._

Iwaizumi was  not cured of his misery maladies - and that's why he is here, tortured by the ghosts from the past.

_But somehow, it was so, so warm, and satisfying to hear his voice again._

_"Iwa-chan"_ He says, his small mouth opens slightly, an overly high-pitched voice that Iwaizumi sometimes said it sounded jarring when they were just eight. But after fifteen years, he doesn’t feel like his sound is difficult to hear anymore, but it has become softer and warmer. It sounds like his voice whenever Iwaizumi fell asleep in the classroom, whenever he turned over to call Iwaizumi out for a volleyball practice, whenever he looked in   Iwaizumi’s jade green eyes and simply called out his name, simple, but it resonated in his chest and made his heart melt into gold.

_At twenty-three, in a city far, far away, Iwaizumi hears his voice from the death._

_"Iwa-chan"_ his voice rings out, softly, like the sound of a raindrop splattering in the dark. Iwaizumi feels hurt when he hears that sound, imagining the way that person had left the world. Iwaizumi did not run enough to hold him back into his embrace. The stairway did not cling to his feet like he held Iwaizumi’s arm thousands of times to keep the boy from falling, while still grumbling that he should walk more careful.

 _"Why are you sleeping in the convenience store ? I though you have to work"_ he asks, and although Iwaizumi knows it was only a dream, he still has a strong desire to answer back.

 _I’m in a break._ Iwaizumi wants to say, but it seems that this dream is some kind of an one-way phone line that he couldn't find a way to respond to the other side. Iwaizumi wants to ask if that person ever saw him, but the words just didn't come out.

 _"I'm glad, seeing Iwa-chan has grown up like this"_ he continues, as if reading Iwaizumi's thoughts. _"It's a pity that I can't be with you now, but I will protect you, like you protected me many times when we were kids even though I didn't ask for it"_

The voice becomes lighter, gradually turns into whispers, and Iwaizumi imagines him tilting his head, his soft brown hair smoothed above two drops of caramel in his eyes.

 _"I saw you, I was so happy_ " Iwaizumi nods slightly, because that is the only way he can pass a signal to the other side. _"I know you're sad that you killed me, but I don't blame you for that”_

 _I’m sorry I did that to you, I was--- I am-- I’m sorry---_ Iwaizumi trembles _\--_

 _“It’s okay”_ he says, softly. _“I know you never wanted to born that way”_

_“I-I just-- I---- I’m sorry I was, and I am-- I’m--- abnormal and---”_

Iwaizumi can hears his voice turns lighter, endearing. _“If you lie down and listen to the city, you can hear it breathing, and you can hear me too"_

 _I will_ , Iwaizumi thinks, feeling tears in his eyes.

_“Iwai---”_

_“Iwaizumi--”_

_“Iwaizumi !”_

Iwaizumi snaps his eyes open, gasp awake. A palm pressing on his cheeks, and when he looks up, it’s--

 _“Oikawa”_ Iwaizumi says, his voice is interrupted by the breath, and he tries to hide it in front of Oikawa _“S-so, you are here”_

 _"You had a nightmare?"_ Oikawa ignores Iwaizumi's attempt to hide the fear, eyebrows furrowed in worry. His aching joints conveys a feeling of numbness and pain due to his disastrous habit of bending his finger’ joints when getting angry, as the past few days they had a lot of problems with the organization and Oikawa felt terribly frustrated when he was called out over and over again at those hours that everyone should have gone to sleep.

But he can’t stand this, seeing Iwaizumi trembling in his sleep and wakes up with a teary face.

 _You are my intent,_ Oikawa thinks, selfishly. _Only I can make you suffer like that._

_But it is not the time yet._

_"It's okay"_ Iwaizumi murmurs, wiping away the tears from his cheekbones with his sleeve, clasping his hands together in shame for being caught by Oikawa in this situation. He smiles, as if to tell Oikawa that he is okay, swiftly sweeping the familiar milk breads and apple yogurt - once rare time that Oikawa doesn't have to hear him grumbles about the amount of snacks Oikawa has bought, how those junk food affects his health, along with a mountain of useless informations like that.

 _"Has Oikawa ever listened to the city breathing?"_ Iwaizumi suddenly asks, causing Oikawa to widen his eyes, showing a look that Iwaizumi could see surprised and confusing. He laughs at his own confusion, waiting for the old cash register to complete his work.

Iwaizumi sometimes calls him by name but not “me” and “you” as usual. Oikawa doesn't understand, but he feels--- happy, it’s rare. It seems just like everyone has forgotten his name, besides Matsukawa who often calls him by name in a sly way, beside from Yahaba who still politely calls him " _Oikawa-san_ ",  no one ever call him by name, for _so, so long_ that Oikawa thinks that at some point he will forget it by himself. The university takes attendance using student ID and the number in class. Those whom he had a rare moment to communicate before he was forced to kill them, they called Oikawa _the devil, the killer_ . He could no longer hear anyone calling his name with a _gentle, warm_ voice. He could no longer hear the voice of some classmate calling his name to take attendance, or hear the teacher affectionately says his name and smiles after watching him solving a difficult problem in class.

Nobody remembers his name. And although it sounds stupid for someone like him, but he was _so, so scared_ , that no one would call him _"Tooru"_ again , as his mother, as his childhood friend once had.

But now, when Iwaizumi calls his name, he realize he doesn’t scared anymore.

 _"If Oikawa hears long enough, and sincere enough, Oikawa can do it too"_ he says, _"You have to match your soul deeply with the city”_

Oikawa had always been a cold-blooded person, he had always thought that the feelings he could give to others were just indifference and desire to kill, but now he is standing here overwhelmed, silly, just as a normal person.

 

 **(But it’s not too bad, Oikawa thinks. It feels like an** **instantaneous explosion of light and the starshine** **)**

 

Oikawa says he doesn't understand. He strokes the mark that the watch had left on the black-haired boy’s wrist, causing Iwaizumi to look up at him.

 _"Sorry, every time you come in, it will happen to be a weird conversation"_ Iwaizumi apologies, yet Oikawa can hear the soft smiles in his voice. He hides his hands behind him and holds them tight.

 _“That’s okay”_ Oikawa can only says.

 _“It feels like something special although I don’t know why_ ” Iwaizumi continues him, then he laughs at himself.

Oikawa feels strangely, _softly_ , happy. That’s rare, but that’s all he wants right now. Oikawa doesn't understand, but he takes a deep breath, then tries to regulate his breathing to coincide with Iwaizumi's, hurried, clumsy, like a young man who just knows what is love for the first time.

 

* * *

 

  
Iwaizumi used to be an easy-going child with a tough appearance, and he would rather spend the day wandering in the forests near his house to catch bugs than sitting in the classroom.

But the Sendai summer last long and the heat is too much with a child, so Iwaizumi's mother thought about taking him to a children's nursery in that early summer.

 _"At first, I didn't like it_ " he says, a smile appears on the corner of his mouth, but his eyebrows furrowed. Oikawa takes a bite of the milk bread and watches every change on his face. " _The children there were damn tall and huge, yet they were so annoying"_

 _"Well, it’s children, so it’s natural"_ Oikawa shrugs. He also hates children, hates it when he received the type of instructions to kill someone in his house and had to hear those children cried fucking loud in front of their parents’ corpses.

 _"Until I met him"_ Iwaizumi smiles, a real smile. _"The one that told me about listening the city breathing, you remember? He is the thinnest of us, a sweet, yet weak and a crybaby . A_ _fter all, who knows, we became close to each other. He was a beautiful, soft brown-haired kid, and---”_

 _"Oh, so you thought of him like that?"_ Oikawa raises his eyebrows, a corner of his mouth forming a smile. Oikawa has dimples. Iwaizumi lets himself be drawn into it for a moment before he is a little startles, his facial expression softens and his cheeks blush warmly.

 _"I like him"_ Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa's eyes widen, his eyebrows relax. He stares at Iwaizumi's face, and though he doesn’t know why, Iwaizumi tries to suppress himself from being sucked into his brilliant amber eyes.

_It's strange to talk about the person he used to love with the person he love._

_"I guess I was a little ... crazy about him,  something like that. So he didn’t talk to me anymore”_ Iwaizumi breaths out sadly _“I… like watching him sleep and when he didn’t come to my house I turned out angry about finding him, and lots of other things”_

Iwaizumi scratches his head in puzzlement. _“Then, um, he had some accident I can’t remember, then my family moved, and that's all. ”_

 _"Is that so?"_ Oikawa raises an eyebrow, smirking.

_"So, where is he now?"_

The question makes Iwaizumi freeze. His nostalgia burns away as he absentmindedly remembers that person’s voice in some certain dream. _I’m very happy. There is no pain here, and I can do whatever I want._ _I can see Iwa-chan too._

_"Well ... my hometown, I guess"_

_"Is it real?"_ Oikawa says, causing Iwaizumi to be silent twice in less than a minute.

 _"Is that your problem?_ " Iwaizumi frowns, takes off his glasses and rubs them against the edge of his shirt, pretending to be busy.

 _"Oh, pardon me, I was impolite"_ Oikawa laughs, and Iwaizumi can't see his eyes anymore, because they are hidden when he smiles. Iwaizumi pauses. Without wearing glasses, he can’t see Oikawa's face clearly, but ---

_Oikawa seems so familiar somehow, yet so strange._

Oikawa rubs his hands on his head, messing with his hair. Touching the old scar on his head always made him feel a bit nostalgic, since that became one of his habits.

He wonders if Yahaba had done what he asked for, before Oikawa's patience running out and maybe at some point he would grab Iwaizumi under his claws without himself knowing it.

 

* * *

  
It's nearly summer, yet Hanamaki still feels cold.

Since Hanamaki went to meet him as a new assistant, Matsukawa realized he pays lots of attention to him. Perhaps it’s because Hanamaki sometimes had to go over to his house to finish the jobs, more than that, they even had to stay very late in the office to prepare lessons and sometimes sleepover through the night. The school's schedule is tight, and sometimes they even laugh at each other's faces with dark circles under their eyes.

Matsukawa said he didn't mind. He once said that he hate having to put effort into composing documents or lectures for those students even when they don’t ever seem to care about it, once said that he hate the huge amount of work at school that causes his insomnia to become even  more serious.

But now he is here, chin leaning on the other’s shoulder while Hanamaki humming a dumb, cheesy love song, and they are happy.  Somewhere around last friday night he suddenly realized how close they had become when Hanamaki came to his house with a set of pillow with mattress, and Hanamaki let out some giggles when he heard him joking about that.  He said that the semester will be over soon, when the summer come, the number of classes will decrease and the order of each other will make their meetings become sparse, so Matsukawa is still taking advantage of this busy time to be with him more.

He doesn't hate it, although sometimes he still has to sneak away from him to finish his work in the organization, like sending instructions to Oikawa, giving Yahaba jobs to do and so much more.  Yahaba told him someone has been planned to get rid of them and that’s why they had to work more and extra careful recently. The annoying fact that some assholes are trying to joke around with them makes him feel bothersome and disgusting - he doesn't feel angry, he rarely feels it, and Oikawa always tells him " _You’re too easy-going, please_ ”.

But compare with Oikawa, who recently had been forced to go out killing bunch of people, hacking in stupid computers and running away from the cops every three or four o'clock in the morning, he feels like he had no right to complain about anything. In any way, he completely isn’t happy when he had to go to school from early morning to the late midnight, then awake until the morning again, to handle the work of the organization and hide it from Hanamaki at the same time.

He doesn’t mind, on the contrary, for the first time, he even feels like insomnia isn’t as bad as he thought.

Hanamaki still feels cold sometimes, and Matsukawa quickly recognizes that when he looks at the way Hanamaki trembles in the coat and his thin jeans can't make him feel warm enough.  Instead, he prefer lying on Matsukawa’s big bed after a night of tiring work, hearing their joints cracking like broken woods, pressing his faces against the stiff pillow and shrinking into sleep quickly.

That made Matsukawa realize many things, making him realize that Hanamaki wasn't as strong and strange as he thought.  The first time they met, he kept feeling something about him, the distance, the strange smile that could make him feel cold and numb. He looked at Hanamaki as something he didn't think he could quickly get along with.  But when he came over to his house after work and the two took off the usual clothes - he was wearing a thick sheath that reached near his knees and his tight-necked sweater, Hanamaki with two or three filter of coats in warm color around his body, and his blue jean was already faded. He realized that Hanamaki was just the same as him, and he was just the same as Hanamaki. They are human, they are as warm and completely ordinary individuals as billions of things that exist on this earth.

Matsukawa enjoys working in the organization, because for him, the people that he judges as "worth dying" must die, and that was a great satisfaction for him when he was ( _indirectly_ ) killed  the lives of those jerks.  He feel happy to see people die, in away.  

He lived like that for a long time. But then, Hanamaki is a completely different category - they go home, wearing only one shirt and one pants, sitting side by side and working together, exhibiting the most primitive of themselves in the golden light in his living room. Sometimes Hanamaki erases the distance between them by sitting closer and resting his head on Matsukawa’s shoulder to relieve his fatigue, or sometimes the person doing it will be him. His ankles were exposed under the edges of his pants, slightly touched Hanamaki’s ankles, Hanamaki’s shoulders leaning against him gently, their wrists touching. And Matsukawa could feel the warmth of blood vessels flowing in their body, trembling under the skin as they touched each other and the sound of Hanamaki breathing steadily for twenty beats per minute made him feel like himself was still in tune with something in this world.

Matsukawa's heart quivered a bit, and that made his hand tremble. Everything being pushed to the top is a must, and it happened one night when Matsukawa couldn't resist of the sleep and keeps nodding his head in front piles of paper- and contrary to what he had expected, Hanamaki isn’t angry, not even grumbling about them having bunch of things to done.  The look on his face lights up under the living room's golden light, the late night curls up like cigarette smokes outside the window behind him. Matsukawa guesses that the familiar sweater could not make him warm enough, but his cheeks were heated by the warmness of gentle pink.

" _Is_ _Matsu-san sleepy?_ " He asks, and Matsukawa nods slightly, watching his slender back still working diligently in front of the computer.

" _Didn’t you tell me that you has insomnia?"_ Hanamaki looks at him.

 _"I guess it's over."_ Matsukawa shrugs, trying to keep his cold face as usual.

" _That’s nice_ ” Hanamaki says, his voice low and trembles. _That’s so, so nice_ , Matsukawa thinks, breathes out.

" _But we still have work to do”_ He puts the coffee cup on the table and slides himself into the distance between Hanamaki and the sofa's back. Sitting behind him like this only makes the sleepiness in Matsukawa raging more intensely in his mind.  He picks up the folder and pushed the glasses over on his nose.

“ _What can I do when I want to work and want to go back with my pillow at the same time?”_ Matsukawa mutters, sounding more like a complaint than a question, but Hanamaki still answer him _(he always do)_

_"Then use me as your pillow and keep working"_

If his face was previously heated by sleepiness and small joy at the same time, then now, it feels like burning. He rests his head on Hanamaki's back, his arms around the other’s belly in an effort to make him feel warmer, the other hand holding the papers and he feels like no words could get into his head.

_And it feels so nice._

It feels like _home_.

“I _s this okay?"_ He asks, trying to keep his voice from trembling.  A man working in the black area like him, an inhuman murderer, is trembling not because of the coldness, but the warmth, in a quiet summer night. He really wants to laugh at himself, yet Hanamaki is here.

"I _t's okay_ " he says, and the sound from the keyboard is the only thing that rings in Matsukawa’s ears.

Things keeps going on for about two minutes, and Matsukawa could just stare at the cherry blossoms blooming on his hair, the roses hidden under his cheeks and those freckles ( _that always_ _feel like kiss marks made by the sun_ ) on his shoulders - if he didn’t suddenly speak.

" _Matsu-san_ ?” Hanamaki calls, and Matsukawa raises an eyebrow " _Hm_?"

" _So you haven't slept yet"_

_"Turned out it's not that easy"_

Matsukawa says, arms tighten around his stomach, pulling Hanamaki into a quiet dance, and he takes his hand off the computer in response to Matsukawa .

" _What are you thinking about?_ " He gives out a bored question, and Hanamaki breathes lightly, a smile was drawn on his face.

“ _About you, I think_ " he says.

" _About me? is that so?"_

 _“Yes, about Matsu-san"_ He repeats and then a laugh comes out.

 _"Matsu is fine_ " he interrupts. Hanamaki nods, stays silent.

 _"Hm_ , _Matsu_?"

Hanamaki says after a moment, and doesn’t hear any answer back. Matsukawa voice vanished into silence. Hanamaki smiles. The thought that Matsukawa must talk to him before going to sleep makes him a little happy. He turns off the phone, stands up to close the window then gently lays down beside him on the sofa that only enough for two people. The noise of the city at four o'clock in the morning makes him feel strange, but lying next to Matsukawa like this, Hanamaki feels like he is not afraid or bothered by anything.

Time melts by, and Hanamaki sits up, covers him with a familiar soft blanket, stays careful not to wake him up - the person who was just felt at sleep is easy to startle. He stares at the ceiling, the thoughts screaming like a storm inside his head.

 

* * *

 

Hanamaki once told Kunimi and Kindaichi, back in one evening when the three were in a shift, that soon, he will die.

 _"When I was in high school, I was bullied"_ Hanamaki continued, as if explaining to the two faces that were frozen because they sure didn't understand. Kunimi said nothing, just looked at him from the corner of his eye and that was what he had anticipated. Kindaichi stared at him either, his eyebrows furrowed in worry, the innocent mouth gave out awkward questions that made Hanamaki couldn’t help but smile.

 _"I were humiliated, battered and contemptuously just because I had a light hair color, my family wasn’t rich and I was a very quiet person”_ Hanamaki continued, pouring a glass of water as if it was not a big deal. _“My body was covered with wounds, and it was very normal to have water poured into me or my books. ”_

 _"Hanamaki-san being quiet"_ Kunimi muttered, not bothering to raise his face. Hanamaki just laughed. Instead of loud inquiries, he prefer hearing people speak their thoughts bluntly _,_ so he likes Kunimi because he never said such polite and excessive words _. "Damn unbelievable"_

 _"I know right?"_ He just shrugged. " _So, and now I’m here, being a high-ranking officer in the police organization. I’m happy, I’m satisfied, so I will sure die soon in a pay-back"_

 _"Everyone will die"_ Kunimi said, resting his chin on his hand, his long hair slightly covering his eyes but he didn't mind it. The uniform made him look more skinny than in Hanamaki’s memory and Kindaichi grabbed his pale, slim wrist, as if softly telling him to stop.

" _Excuse me"_ Kindaichi looked at Hanamaki and said. _"I think he meant that death will come anyway, so you don't need to look forward to it"_

 _“Yeah, I hope so”_ Hanamaki slightly said, and that’s all Kindaichi can remember about that conversation.

He didn't know why he is recall about that now.

In the night sky of the city, the stars went high, shining brightly on an old, big building, the only window illuminating the golden light stands out against the pitch black. In that room, the flames in the fireplace are smoldering overnight, next to the two tables filled with papers and a round table that could be called clean - perhaps it is for the meetings. The light dances gently on the walls, on the portraits of famous leaders whose wooden frames are already old and bitten by beetles. On a makeshift bed makes of two chairs are some blankets, its creamy pink color softens in the warm lights from the flames.

 _"Kunimi"_ Kindaichi calls out, sits down on the chair next to the desk full of documents, on his knee are all the terrible informations. Kunimi looks at those papers with half of his face hidden in the blanket, raises an eyebrow, waiting for Kindaichi to continue. Although it is almost summer, but occasionally Kunimi still suffers from a lot of stupid flus. So even though he looks stubborn, he is still a bit shabby, like a molting animal.

 _"What exactly is Hanamaki-san doing?"_ Kindaichi asks, and Kunimi secretly admires his sanity at four in the morning. _"How is that organization like?"_

Kunimi displays an annoying expression, but he still answers _"Kind of criminal organization. They kill and take money, somewhat like that "_

_"If it was just killing, shouldn't we focus on solving organizations that include smuggling, selling people, organs and others?"_

_"Crime organizations in the city hate and want to eradicate each other"_ Kunimi sits up straight, tapping his finger on the phone as if waiting for someone's call. _“That's why the paid-kill organization exists. They do not follow any faction but only kill by contract and take back money. So if we can successfully infiltrate them, the police will gather a lot of information about the remaining gangs and thus a two-hit arrow "_

Kindaichi seems a bit embarrassed because he couldn't see that far, but his thoughts were cut off when Kunimi's phone rang. He clicks on the phone icon immediately, turns on the speaker and puts it on the table.

Kindaichi feels like Kunimi is only particularly interested when it is something related to work, then he also approaches, listening to the sound of the rustling on the other end.

 _"Kunimi? Kidaichi?”_ Hanamaki's voice rings out from the other end, quietly. There was no echo, Kindaichi thinks, assures that they are not eavesdropped. _"I was going to text you, but it seemed a bit unsettling so I’m calling."_

 _"I think he's not so careful to let some eavesdrop device on you, but please be careful"_ Kunimi says, _"So, where are you now?"_

 _"His house"_ Hanamaki sighs _"He is sleeping now"_

_"Woah-- impressive"_

_"It’s not like what you're thinking"_ Hanamaki growls, and Kunimi giggles. It is strange to see that they can still joke around in such a situation, Kindaichi thinks.

 _"How is it?"_ Kindaichi adds, holds his breath, stopping the other two from the seemingly endless joke.

 _"It's hard"_ The pink haired boy says, his voice whispering, and Kunimi guesses he is hiding in the bathroom. " _His laptop has a password. He only does shady things when I’m sleeping, so I can’t find anything. ”_

_"That's right, he is a high-ranking member, so being careful like that is natural"_

_“I don't have enough time to hack because he has insomnia, so he is mostly awake. There's an in-house security camera, so I can't set the eavesdrop devices_ ”

 _"Hm, yeah. What about hacking into that security camera?”_ Kindaichi suggests, and Kunimi nods in an agreement even though he knows Hanamaki can’t really see them.

 _"That's why I’m calling. Can you contact Shiratorizawa to ask their hackers?”_ Hanamaki furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance, letting out a sigh.

 _"Maybe they will agree"_ Kunimi says, _"Although I don't like them at all. How annoying was their member’s behavior….what is his name again? Shirabu?"_

 _"Ask them to solve the laptop and security camera, okay?"_ Hanamaki says, his voice hurried. The call cut off, and Kunimi picks back his phone.

 _"I'll contact them later, it's almost five o'clock now"_ Kindaichi says _"I hope Hanamaki-san is okay"_

 _"I really hope so"_ Kunimi answers, yet all he can think of now is just Hanamaki's  softly voice, cheeks rosy in the lights of flames.

_“I’ll sure die soon as a pay-back”_

 

* * *

 

In these three years, there was no sun.

Hanamaki leans against the bathroom door, folds his arms, his nails clench against the skin beneath his shirt to prevent himself from trembling.

He used to be an obedient student, an normal member but good enough to be in the school's volleyball team, a child who always knew how to please his parents. In the first year of high school, he thought he had two more years, two years to get more friends, to sharpen his skills and find things he didn't have. _Except for. It stopped._ Hanamaki can’t remember when, but the compliments from friends stopped, meetings stopped, lunches with everyone stopped, and all _collapsed._

Hanamaki remembers the way the rough fingers crept into his hair and slammed his head too hard, too violent, against the floor- _it was painfully cold_ , and that’s something Hanamaki can’t ever forget. _Painfully cold_ \- when they looked at him and laughed at everything he said, everything he did, laughed at the fact that he talked too low for them to hear, and they always blamed him because he didn’t have enough money to pay for the lunches. _Painfully cold-_ when they ripped of his clothes and laughed like it was something funny we often see on the television, painfully cold when he heard someone said _“What, this little fucker is crying ?”_

Some one giggled, someone _laughed_. It never stopped. _It hurts_ , he wanted to say, but the words just didn’t come out as he want.

 _It hurts_ \- when he tried his best, called all the strength left inside his body to look at himself in the mirror, all blooming bruises and pink-red wounds, the heat between his hip bones---

The aftermath makes him wanna cry, so he bites his lip, asks himself what is he doing right now- being such a weak and useless man inside his target’s bathroom at five in the morning. It’s kind of his habit _(if he can call it like that_ ). Recall those fucking memories and then cry like a god damn rat, hoping it can make him feel stronger, somehow.

_He guesses it doesn’t work today._

_“Hana?”_

Hanamaki startles when he hears (the only person he can think of right now) calling his name. Although it is not the right time, but ---

His voice is warm, soothing, and gentle. It seems that his useless mind is eliciting himself about the disgusting nicknames they used to call him, contrary to the softness and calmness of Matsukawa’s voice.

Hanamaki takes a deep breath, twisting the cold door handle, and then he faces him. The amber lights from the chandelier crept into the corners of his face, the sharp edges that painted a gentle expression, the face Hanamaki knows so well. The short curls of black hairstyle that is almost identical to Hanamaki’s, the dark circles under his eyes reflect that he had lost sleep for a long time ----

_But he is still gleaming and warm and beautiful and soothing Hanamaki's mind._

_"Sorry, I can't sleep"_ Hanamaki lets out a smile, but sad and lack of energy _"Did I wake you?"_

 _"No"_ Matsukawa replies, his voice sleepy. _"I guess it's hard for the insomnia to go away. Can’t really sleep”_

 _"I'm sorry for that"_ Hanamaki shows the concern on his face, closes the toilet door and heads towards the living room. Matsukawa follows him. It seems that he doesn't want to use that room but just wanted to check where Hanamaki was.

He wishes he didn't hear the phone call, even though the bathroom has soundproofed doors and he tried very hard to lower his tone.

There’s a small squeak of the wooden floors when he steps in the horizon of the living room, and Hanamaki looks at the big painting on the wall as if he has never seen it before (well, he _is_ ). Hanamaki blinks in stupidity, after a few seconds, he turns to Matsukawa.

_"Did you buy that painting?"_

Matsukawa raises his head when he is pouring two glasses of water, squinting at the painting as if this is the first time for him to see it. Hanamaki guesses he is still not completely awake.

 _"Ah ... that's right"_ he says, gets up and walks to Hanamaki's side as the two stand just in front of the painting. He shrugs. _"It's just a copy, but it's quite cheap for a wall painting—"_

 _“Is this John Everett Millais's Ophelia painting?_ ” Hanamaki interrupts him, pointing at the painting excitedly.

 _"That's right"_ Matsukawa smiles _"You have knowledge. Have you read the book?”_ Hanamaki looks at the excitement in his eyes in nearly six in the morning and smiles.

 _"I read the story, and I really like what people say about Ophelia's death"_ Hanamaki folds his arms, looks at each detail on the picture. _"They said it’s the most_ _poetically written death scenes in history, don’t you think?”_

Matsukawa doesn’t answer, but he looks at Hanamaki's face and that makes his cheeks a little warmer than usual.

 _"She climbed onto a willow tree, and bough broke beneath her. She drowned in the water singing songs, as if unaware of her danger ”_ Hanamaki says, his voice soft _“It sounds so good, isn't it? They wrote that on the newspaper. I want to die that way too"_

If the front of his sentence makes Matsukawa smile, then he shows an unexpected expression when Hanamaki finishes it. He bends down, as if he was going to ask some questions, before he sees the tears sparkling in the corners of Hanamaki's eyes, not yet given the chance to flow down his cheeks.

Hanamaki knows he saw it, but he stays silent, glances at him. Hanamaki knows him too well. He might be a gang member who killed people like it is nothing, but he certainly isn’t good at talking and appeasing.

 _“I----”_ Matsukawa cuts himself off, then gets closer to Hanamaki, his face lining with sincerity. After a moment, he clenches his jaw and looks at him. _“I’m sorry, but are you okay? Want me to do something?”_

 _“It’s okay”_ Hanamaki smiles, wipes the tears from his eyes. _“It’s just...memories. Bad kids in highschool. Bully and things, bla bla, you know those stuffs”_

 _“Ah-- I’m sorry”_ Matsukawa nods his head, bites in his lip as if he doesn't know what to say.

 _“No, I’m the one who should be apologize”_ Hanamaki lets out a soft laugh, although his nose rosy _“Sorry for saying such things”_

_“Sorry I’m not good with appeasing people”_

_“It’s okay. Sorry for bothering you”_

_“Sorry that happened to someone like you”_

_‘Why are we keep apologizing each other?”_ Hanamaki can’t help but giggles a little, and that makes Matsukawa a little happy because at least Hanamaki doesn’t seem to be sad anymore.

Time melts into warm rose gold sunlights from the window, and after a moment of silence, Matsukawa takes a deep breath, look at Hanamaki in the eyes.

 _“But thank you”_ he says, strangely soft (or it’s just Hanamaki stupid mind)

 _“Hm? for what?”_ Hanamaki raises an eyebrows.

 _“For still being here with me”_ Matsukawa opens his mouth and it’s his longest sentence Hanamaki has ever heard from him  _“You said you don’t want to live, yet you still appeared to meet me. I like being with you because you are quiet and never say something excessive. I like it when you let me warm you, and when you did all the works for me while I’m sleeping”_

 _“You knew that”_ Hanamaki mumbles in awkwardness, like he’s being exposed. Matsukawa nods, and then he laughs. He is too easy-going to see that Hanamaki is lying to him,  and somehow that makes Hanamaki’s heart shrink.

“Yeah, I--” Matsukawa tilts his head, intending to say something before ---

He realizes his face is too close to Hanamaki, and he knows Hanamaki also feels the same when he looks into his eyes.

He can feel Hanamaki's breath on his cheekbones, and his mind screams, tells him to _stop, stop._ But he can't. The soft skin slightly has some small freckles and soft-pink haired --- He wants to stop and ask " _Can I?"_ , But he can’t.

And so, he gently presses his lips onto Hanamaki's.

The glow on Ophelia's dress shines in the corner of his eyes.

And their rush, burning love, their lack of computation in a relationship along with the gold color on the painting, is the background of a kiss.

Not a passionate kiss, not the thought of Hanamaki wondering why he did it, or the sleepiness at six in the hazy morning- Matsukawa is not clever enough to think about anything right now, but just one whisper _"I wanna kiss you"_

Hanamaki Takahiro, soft lips press against his loved one’s, hiding his face from the picture, hiding his face under Matsukawa’s hands on his cheekbones and doesn’t answer.

Hanamaki knows this was wrong, _this was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong,_ but he ---

_He can't get out of his spell._

_"Hi"_ Matsukawa says, as if there is nothing he can think of now, his eyes widen, his hands on Hanamaki’s cheeks tremble.

 _"Hi",_ Hanamaki gasps, deeply entangled in Matsukawa’s eyes and immobilized.

At the same time, Hanamaki wants to hold on to the scent in his hair, and wants Matsukawa to destroy himself in the most beautiful way.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, thank you for making it all the way here ! 
> 
> I wanna create a sweet relationship between Matsukawa and Hanamaki, strongly opposite with Iwaizumi and Oikawa but we can say nothing about the future yet haha.
> 
> Thanks for the hits and if you have something you wanna say just give me a comment okay 
> 
> See the Ophelia painting of John Everett Millais [here](http://www.dailyartmagazine.com/john-everett-millais-ophelia/)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, it's me.... Finally uploaded this. English is not my first language, so I sure made some mistakes. I didn’t think about write it down like this because I lacked of confident but one of my follower told me that I should write it for myself so... yeah. 
> 
> I'll try to read this again and fix it. Hope you guys don't mind and I would very happy if you enjoy this ! 
> 
> Anyway I spent much time going deep into True Crime Community, and I've read a lot about criminals. My favs, and who I write Iwaizumi and Oikawa based on, is Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy ! (The type of crazy-in-love and the intelligent yet so dangerous type) 
> 
> If it's something that makes you guys feel frustrated in this, please tell me. I appreciate it a lot.


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